Caren’s Long Wee-end

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Caren Yeager swung her 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300SL off the San Diego freeway and expertly gunned it towards her on the city’s outskirts. She ran a leather-gloved hand smoothly over the gleaming wooden steering wheel and thought how superbly the black leather looked on the wheel, as if it belonged. Had her car been a Bentley, or a Porsche, even, such gloves would have looked out of place – but in a $290,000 million “Gullwing” they looked perfect.

She drew up at the inevitable red light at this time of the morning and glanced into her rear vision mirror. Her long, blonde hair was gleaming and slightly, but so very fashionably, dishevelled sinceshe had been driving in the warm Californian sun with the windows down. The Mercedes was equipped with what they laughingly called “aircon” in 1955. Totally useless, of course, in midsummer San Diego.

Caren adjusted her Armani sunglasses, which fitted snugly on her fine features as she checked herself in the mirror. Also fitting snugly was her black leather jacket, with its low-slung cut which revealed her firm, bronzed cleavage, and her black leather jeans, which clung to her stunning ass and thighs like a second skin.

Her footwear, stylish Manolo Blahniks were not practical for such a sporty machine as the 300SL – as a connoisseur of fine cars, Caren knew very well that Mercedes never called the car by its “Gullwing” nickname – and she had kicked them off.

Caren would have loved to have completed her attire with a leather bra and g-string, but had decided instead to go with black sheer bra and briefs from Victoria’s Secret. It was going to be a long day at the office, the leather underwear would have been a tad too warm, she thought.

Just then, a large truck pulled up alongside her, the driver, a swarthy, oleaginous, gap-toothed Mexican leered down from on high and yelled: “Hey ladee, nice car. And great headlights!”

Caren ignored him, but pulled her digital camera from the glovebox and pointed it directly at the name of the truck’s owner, stencilled on the driver’s door. She clicked the trigger and the driver scowled down at her.

“Wassa matter, ladee?” he cried, “can’t take a joke?”

Caren ignored the slob and roared away from the green light, moving through the gears with practised ease as the Mercedes left the lumbering truck in its thoroughbred wake.

Soon she pulled into her office grounds and parked the 300SL in the spot labelled “President: Caren Yeager. Keep Out!”

She looked at the notice and mused: “I must get that changed to ‘Execubitch’ one day.” Slipping on her high heels, Caren grabbed her brown leather attache case and swept into the single-storey building.

Yeager Systems may only have been a single-storey building, but its appearance was deceptive, it housed 125 employees. From it the lissom 34-year-old controlled a computer empire which was the envy of many larger concerns. There were often rumours in the trade press that Bill Gates had made offers for Caren’s business, which she had built from scratch in six years. But true to her motto “Never explain, never complain”, Caren had refused any comment when the pedlars of such gossip called her for a statement.

Nodding to the office receptionist, Caren entered her spacious office, unzipped her leather jacket to reveal the beautiful see-through satin bra, cupping her lovely firm breasts, and pressed a buzzer.

Tanya, her secretary of five years, almost since the firm’s founding, entered and stood obediently beside Caren’s large desk. A busty dark-haired beauty of 26, Tanya had flashing brown eyes, short but well-shaped legs and a great ass. She was just what Caren wanted in a secretary – she was capable, efficient, trustworthy and, most important of all, submissive.

Caren stood and pressed her lips against the younger woman’s mouth. “My husband’s away on a golfing week-end,” she said, in a whisper – walls have ears.

“You will spend the week-end with me, you slutbitch, I have plans for you,” she added, pressing her bra-encased breasts against her secretary’s virginal white blouse.

“Wonderful,” said the brunette, “I’ve already packed an overnight bag.”

Caren resumed her seat with a laugh. “Why did you do that, you lovely little subby? You won’t be wearing any clothes – unless, that is, I decide to make you wear your punishment bra and panties.”

Tanya rubbed her thighs together in mock anguish. “Ooooh, mistress,” she said, also being careful to pitch her voice low, “not the punishment panties, please!”

Caren laughed again. “OK, Tanya, down to business. What’s on the agenda?” And for the next five hours Caren was what her husband was fond of describing as “ass up, head down” as she made decisions on her computer empire.

Finally, after a late and rushed lunch of smoked salmon sandwiches and Diet Coke, Caren announced to Tanya: “I can’t wait any longer, bitch – I want you. Let’s go, I’ll get Anita to put all calls on hold until Monday. Come on.”

The lovely, Burdur Escort long-legged blonde stood, zipped her jacket up to cover her beautifully built breasts and walked out of the office, with Tanya a dutiful pace and a half behind.

“We’re off for the week-end, Nita,” Caren told the attractive front office receptionist. She also thought, “One day I must slap that bitch around in my dungeon”, then dismissed the idea. The girl looked like a pouter, she hated pouters, she liked her sub slaves to be proud, even haughty, until she broke them. Luckily for Caren, Tanya adored being broken.

As usual, Caren’s sleek black Mercedes attracted many admiring glances as she transported Tanya in the short but hair-raising drive up to her magnificent La Jolla mansion, with its sweeping wide windows providing superb panoramic views out to the crashing blue Pacific.

The automatic gate swung open, then closed behind them as Caren screeched the roadster to a halt outside the spacious home, which had set the computer millionairess back the best part of $18 million.

“Must you always drive like Michael Schumacher?” Tanya asked, in a typically cheeky fashion. She’d been like that all day, deliberately and provocatively egging herself on to give Caren all the excuses in the world to give her a wonderful domming.

Not that she needed, to, really, thought Caren, but if it amuses the little bitch.

Tanya had rubbed her breasts against her boss at every opportunity she’d had; spilled some coffee on Caren’s desk; even, at one stage, calling her “Execubitch”. Caren knew what she was up to and loved it. Soon she would be extracting her erotic and strict revenge.

“Darling, Mr Schumacher drives noisy, unreliable Ferraris,” she smiled at her lovely assistant. “Please don’t even mention those appalling little cars in the same breath as my 300SL.”

The pair entered the house, cool and deserted – the maid and chef had been given the day off by Caren as soon as she knew her husband would be playing hole after boring hole at some pricey Hawaiian golf course all week-end.

Turning on her secretary, Caren pounced and gave her a quick, hissing kiss and then disengaged. “Now it’s time for my fun,” she told Tanya. “You’ve been a superbitch all day, now you’re going to pay. When I come back to the kitchen I want you in the display position, only high heels on, nothing else, and holding your bowl. Understood?”

Of course the little superslut did, Caren thought, as she walked into her spacious bedroom and pulled off her jacket, leather jeans and flung her panties and bra in a laundry basket. She removed her Cartier Santos 100 watch – she always wore that to work, the diamond-encrusted Rolex was for evenings and “dress up” occasions. Now, though, she would eschew a watch – time was irrelevant, all that was important was pleasure.

Caren examined her reflection in a huge mirror in her massive walk-in wardrobe, which extended the length of the room. In it were extremely expensive evening gowns, power suits for those “executive” occasions. And one end was a rack of her fetish gear, much of it leather, PVC and latex, and much of it flown out to her from England by the popular but extremely high-class fetish house, Westward Bound.

The stunningly-attractive blonde chose her first item – not clothing, jewellery. It had been made for her in Paris by a jeweller who had left Cartier, her favorite jewellery house, to set up his own esoteric, indeed erotic, range of products.

Caren snapped the bracelet around her throat and looked at it in the mirror with a certain smug satisfaction. It was a broad gold band, but hanging from the front were 10 letters, made of exquisite gold, like the band. The letters spelled out E-x-e-c-u-b-i-t-c-h and the glittering item had cost her almost $25,000. It was, she decided, an expense well worth it.

Next the long-legged beauty selected a shiny black leather, open-fronted bra. Truth be told her 36-inch D-cup breasts didn’t really need a bra – they were strong, firm globes, but Caren loved the look the gleaming black straps around her breasts conferred on her. It spoke of domination, not submission, a certain “Don’t fuck with me” look, she thought. And in her sex life, as in her business life, it paid not to “fuck” with Caren Yeager.

She flicked through her fetish wardrobe and her eyes fell on a shiny pair of black leather chaps, with a starkly contrasting white leather belt threaded through loops at the waist. Caren pulled the chaps on and looked at how they hugged her hips and thighs, leaving her pussy naked, her buttocks bare. Caren liked the way the blackness of the garment almost pointed the way to her shaved minge, her labia lips pink and moist.

On her feet, went a pair of black leather riding boots, with spurs at the heels which jangled delightfully when she walked – and when she dug them into Tanya’s buttocks, if she decided to “ride” her.

Next the 34-year-old chose a pair of shiny black Burdur Escort Bayan leather gloves, which snapped buttoned at her wrists. The material was lustrous, its feel cool – but there was nothing cool about it for Tanya when it came into contact with the slutbitch’s face. Caren selected a slim leather riding crop with a pretty little punishing flap at the tip and prepared to put the slutbitch out of her waiting misery.

And that reminded Caren – she must not forget Tanya’s gift. But before that, she picked up the crowning touch to her picture of feminine domination, her copyright item, her “signature” if you will – her silver-encrusted cigarette holder. It was almost a foot long, it was quite heavy and it added the perfect finish to her ensemble.

Into it, Caren screwed a strong-smelling Gauloise cigarette – how the fuck the French smoked them was beyond her, but even such a rank-smelling cigarette brought a lust to her for a smoke. In fact, she had given up the habit six years ago, and being a woman of immense inner strength hadn’t lit one up since.

But the Gauloise in the holder was an essential part of her apparel – Tanya hated the smell of them, a fact that made them perfect for Caren’s purposes.

Stepping back into her bedroom, Caren went to her dressing table, swept a brush 20 times through her glorious blonde mane, then opened a drawer and removed an item from it. Made of cheap, thin gold chain it was a thinner band than the one glistening at the throat of the computer millionairess.

Hanging from the band were nine dull coloured letters, made of some cheap metal and in complete contrast to the gold-plate. The letters spelled out the word “Slutbitch”. Caren had had it made up by a cheap little jeweller in a sleazy part of London’s Soho the last time she was in the English capital.

It had cost her, in the words of the oily little man who ran it up for her, “free quid, ducks”. It was, therefore, just perfect for her awaiting slutbitch. Caren slipped it into the lower front hem of her open-breasted bra. The way it hung, Tanya would have no idea what it was, the letters were all jumbled up.

Caren glanced at the clock on her bedside table and was surprised to find she had been more than a quarter of an hour getting ready. Well, she thoroughly enjoyed the ritual of preparing for a domme session with Tanya, and it was always good to keep a slave waiting.

Now, her pussy tingling with anticipation, her nipples erect in similar expectancy, Caren walked back towards the kitchen, her jingle jangle of spurs a give away for the waiting Tanya.

In the kitchen she found her slave waiting, obedient as ever – all pretence of cheek now vanished – in the “display position”.

Tanya was nude, as instructed, save for her black, high heeled stilettos. Her big breasts were full and firm, her shaved pussy inviting for Caren’s inspection, so wide spread were the woman’s feet. Above her head, her arms sticking straight up and held in her hands was a large white ceramic bowl emblazoned with bright red lettering reading “Slutbitch”.

Tanya’s nudity displayed the fact that the busty creature had to wear a bikini whenever she sunbathed in the strong Californian sun by her apartment’s rooftop swimming pool. The heavy breasts had white patches that showed plainly where her bikini bra had been in place, and at her crotch there was a similar white spread of flesh. Above her buttocks was a small little triangle of white flesh, denoting that her bikini bottom was thong-style.

Caren, whose entire body was a temple of praise to nude sunbathing, always liked to belittle Tanya’s suntan.

“Oh, I see we’re wearing our white bikini today, are we, slutbitch?” she grinned, walking around her slave on her parade of inspection, waving her cigarette holder with its pungent-smelling Gauloise in the woman’s face.

“Yes, mistress,” murmured her slave, voice now respectful, obedient.

Caren traced the tip of her crop along Tanya’s lush labia. “You look fucking pathetic, with those white streaks, slutbitch,” said Caren, settling smoothly into her haughty verbal domination of her secretary.

“Yes, mistress,” said Tanya, her voice low, throbbing with her anticipation.

Suddenly, Caren made her move – she lowered the tip of the crop to the level of Tanya’s knees and flashed it up against the poor victim’s pudenda. The 26-year-old let out a little sound which sounded, to Caren’s ears, like a pathetic “Eeek!”

“In fact,” said Caren, walking around her slave and tracing the crop across her buttocks, “you look so fucking pathetic, I think I’ll let you put on something to cover those disgusting white streaks. Something like the red leather bikini, perhaps?”

Tanya’s body gave a shiver, a shudder – it was, of course, all part of the routine. “Oh no, mistress, please, not the leather bikini,” the brunette pleaded.

Caren slashed the crop against the beautifully presented bum and stepped in front Escort Burdur of Tanya again. “Yes, mistress, yes, the fucking leather bikini,” Caren said, in a parody of Tanya’s plea.

“But first, I need to piss. Bowl in place, quick.”

Tanya immediately snapped into action, falling to her knees on the beautifully clean Italian-tiled floor and carefully placed her bowl beneath Caren’s lovely minge.

The millionairess ran her fingers through her lips, parted them slightly then grunted and released a powerful stream of dark yellow urine. Only the depth of the bowl prevented some of the piss splashing out onto the slave girl’s face. Still Caren pissed, until finally a 45-second flood of urine had sprayed from her to the bowl below.

“Clean me, slutbitch,” snapped the lovely blonde, and Tanya placed the bowl beside her on the floor, being careful not to spill a drop – not the easiest thing to do as it was almost full to overflowing.

Caren then felt the loving caress of her slutbitch’s tongue on her pussy for the first time that day. Tanya had an experienced mouth, of course, she had been serving her mistress for a year or two, now, but what Caren liked the most about the secretary’s oral adoration was her tongue.

Tanya had a tongue made for cunnilingus – or analingus, for that matter. It was long, it was smooth and it was hot, always hot for the taste of her mistress’s pussy. Only right now, it had but one task and that was not to bring Caren to sexual fulfilment, but to clean any traces of residual urine from her pussy.

That task completed, Tanya placed her hands behind her back on the floor and looked imploringly and devotedly up at her mistress.

“Now fetch me the bikini – but first, put the bowl in the refrigerator,” Caren snapped and Tanya leapt to obey.

As the secretary entered the vast lounge looking out to the dazzling blue of the Pacific, Caren followed her. The kitchen was no place for the next phase of her pussy-tingling punishment session, the lounge was fine – her dungeon in the basement would have been perfect, but Caren was in no hurry to get there, Saturday and Sunday lay waiting for those thrills.

From a drawer in the sumptuous lounge, Tanya removed a red leather bra and red leather briefs, which she brought to Caren and presented, the items lying in her palms-upwards hands as she pushed her arms out straight towards her domina in supplication.

Caren took the garments and pressed a lingering kiss against the pretty woman’s mouth. “Just the right sort of apparel for a warm Friday afternoon, eh, my dear little slutbitch?” she asked.

“Yes, mistress, thank-you, mistress,” said Tanya, who then raised arms as if in surrender – which, in fact, it was – and Caren started to fit the brassiere on her slave.

The bra – which Caren laughingly referred to as “a booby trap” – was made of extremely expensive, soft and supple red leather. Inside, the cups were lined with hundreds upon hundreds of little prickles, which would press irritatingly into the wearer’s busty globes.

This was not an item specialised in by Westward Bound – Caren had had to visit an exclusive leather shop in San Francisco to get the item ordered and it had taken a lengthy session of measurements with Tanya in attendance, to get the perfect fit for her breasts, pussy and buttocks.

It hadn’t been a cheap exercise, but when it came to finding punishment gear for her slave, thought Caren, I don’t stint. Unless it’s on “Slutbitch” bracelets, that is, she thought with a smile.

Caren hooked the bra onto Tanya’s full breasts, clipped it firmly into place on her strong back, then returned to face her slave. Then Caren added a little more torment for the poor woman. Set in each cup of the bra, was a thread of thin leather, hidden in a groove going all around the cup. The groove opened at the uppermost part of each breast. Tying the ends of each strand of leather tightly served to tighten the cup around each globe even further. Her task done, Caren ran a hand in a firm caress over the slave’s left breast. Tanya winced.

Next it was time to get the briefs on. This was Tanya’s task, Caren decided. Let the little bitch assist in providing her own punishment. The slavegirl pulled the panties up until they snuggled around her pudenda and backside. As with the bra, the briefs were prickly-lined. Caren had debated providing them with a dildo and an anal intruder, but decided against it – she far preferred to be able to see such objects entering her slutbitch’s orifices.

Caren then set about adding the final touch to the panty-punishment. This consisted of tightening the belt at the garment’s waist, then pulling two cords tight at the rear of the briefs, which in turn tightened the leather against the wearer’s belly, pussy and buttock cheeks.

As she stepped in front of her slave, Caren ran a hand across the lush, leather-covered left buttock. Pressing her mouth against Tanya’s, the domina whispered: “And now I have a final little prezzie for you, my sweet little slutbitch. I hope you are suitably grateful.”

And from her bra, Caren pulled the shoddy little “Slutbitch” bracelet, held it out for Tanya to read the message dangling from the cheap gold link, then put it around her neck.

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